Inside a rustic cabin deep in Yukon territory, an old miner seasoned a simmering pot of venison stew.
Stroking his grizzled chin, he thought about the majestic elk herd he’d encountered migrating through a mountain meadow late that afternoon: one dominant young bull calling a large group of cows and calves to follow. After the herd disappeared over a ridge, a straggler came stumbling out of the trees: an old bull, wild-eyed and abandoned. Somehow he’d felt a kindred spirit to the animal…
Later, eerie howls of wolves on their twilight hunt woke him. He stirred the fire’s embers before going outside in the dark to check on his pack mule. Under waning moon, he was fumbling with the cabin latch on his return when far away an interrupted cry of the lone elk was heard as the hungry pack took him down.
An exercise in “prosery” for dVerse where Bjorn challenges us to write flash fiction of 144 words (exactly!) and include the phrase (from Robert Frost) in italics above.
Linking to dVerse poetics where Amaya asks us to “cry me a river” with music.
why do i love you still
so deeply it hurts?
cry of man’s solo voice
breaks lonely hearts
sigh of flute’s minor-keyed
lament clearly haunts
try to release emotion in
sealed letters unsent
nigh insane from promised
satin nights unspent
fly to LOVE himself, the
primal truth unbent.
For me, this old song is crying put to music. To love is to be vulnerable and to risk not being reciprocated…but we love anyway and love is real; powerful, often painful.
The Moody Blues first recorded this song in 1967 and here they reunited to sing it again years later.
In my youthful innocence, I first thought the words were “knights in white satin” 🙂 I play flute so I’m drawn to the instrument’s mellow sound.
For believers, love songs can also reflect God’s amazing love for us!
We lament with this family suffering awe-ful grief. Beloved infants lost at 26 weeks gestation; twin grandbabies happily anticipated. Expectant mother, more than halfway through pregnancy, heard heartbeats and viewed ultrasounds but no more… no more expectations, no more movement, no more fast swooshing of babies’ hearts beating their distinct rhythms. Only mother’s lonely heart beats now, heavy with slow sorrow.
The relentless spring rains mirror this drowning grief. Tears falling in torrents, flooded emotions. Erosion of the soul. What kind of broken world is this, where little lives can be cut short by the cord that was their lifeline? We may ask “why?” yet not receive an acceptable answer to the anguished questions. We have only our faith in God himself to cling to. Lord, have mercy on your children. As we remember precious twins taken; remember us too, for we are dust.
dear Jesus, son of Father God above
Spirit confirms you are my one true love
for you created me in mother’s womb
you chose me from the start as own true love
Father, you are attentive to my prayers
the details of my life blessed by true love
my Savior, you gave up your life for mine
high ransom paid, you claim me as true love
you have forgiven my unfaithfulness
and will remain forever first true love
sweet Spirit gently speak to weary heart
to reassure Lynn you’re her best true love!
This is my attempt at writing a ghazal. A ghazal is usually about love, either romantic or divine. It is written in couplets with a repeating refrain. In English, the meter is natural, like iambic pentameter. The final line includes the author’s name. Gay Reiser Cannon shares samples of the ghazal form at dVerse Poets pub…
